


I Have Only My Dreams

by PyroKlepto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Amnesia, Cain - Freeform, Cain/Colette - Freeform, F/M, I was not going for accuracy with this, Memory Loss, One Shot, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, W.B. Yeats, William Butler Yeats - Freeform, colette - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyroKlepto/pseuds/PyroKlepto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain doesn't remember the woman who is hovering above him when he wakes up, nor does he remember the town he finds himself in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Only My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grigiocuore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/gifts).



> I wrote this due to a request from my friend Grig - I posted a 'send me an AU and I will write a ficlet for it' thing on Tumblr, and she sent me a request for the 'amnesia AU'. I understand that what Cain has isn't total amnesia, as he remembers plenty of things, just not happenings from a certain amount of years ago. I also understand that this is in no way timeline accurate, or even accurate in general. It wasn't meant to be. If that bothers you, keep in mind it's called an AU, and perhaps go check something else I've written out. :) Enjoy!

Cain awoke in an unfamiliar place; but what struck him most was that an equally unfamiliar face hovered worriedly above him. It broke into a smile, and he stared for a long moment. Then he automatically tried to move back. His head connected with a solid thud against wood, and he realised he was in a bed.

He sat up with a twinge of suspicion, disentangling his hands from where they had ended up knotted in his shirt during sleep. “Where am I? Who are you?”

The woman’s eyes looked sad, and her smile faded. “I’m Colette. You’re at home.” 

Cain scanned the room. “I don’t recognise this place. And I don’t know who you are. What sort of game are you playing?” He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, raking a hand through his greying curls. His fingers caught on a snarl and he yanked against it until it untangled, scowling.

Without waiting for much of a response, Cain made his way out of the room and throughout the house, searching for any sign that he had ever been here. He didn’t. 

“You were in an accident, and the blow to your head took away some of your memories.”

The voice was quiet, and gentle. Cain turned sharply. The woman called Colette was standing across the room; she had followed him and seemed to be watching him.

He felt unnerved, and yet at the same time, he wasn’t quite as on edge as he knew he should have been. “Even if that is true, why am I here?”

“You live here.” 

Cain crossed the room in three quick strides, stopping directly in front of her. He towered over her by several inches, and she seemed almost fragile in comparison to him - accident or not, his advantage in strength was very present.

And yet there was no fear in her eyes. Perhaps a brief flicker of it, but hardly noticeable before it vanished. There was sorrow, and another emotion he couldn’t discern, but no fear.

“Are you lying to me?” he asked, peering down at her. 

She met his gaze without faltering. “No.” 

They held eye contact for several long moments, and Cain was the first to break away. He stepped back, taking one last wary look around the house. Without saying anything, he went to the front door and left.

Outside, nothing seemed familiar. He saw one small box in a corner of the yard that appeared to be a beehive. Birdfeeders hung from the trees, and a clothesline stretched between two poles. 

He walked past it all.

~*~

He had found some money in the right pocket of his trousers and used it to get a cheap room at an inn. And every day he found himself frustrated. The last thing he remembered was being in some town that wasn’t this one, living in a cabin by himself a certain distance from everyone else.

Suddenly, he was here and surrounded by unfamiliar things. Maybe the woman - Colette, she had said; it was a pretty name, he had to admit - had been telling the truth. Maybe he had lost his memories.

He left his room on the third day to go buy some groceries. He hated most of what the inn had to offer; meat was clearly a staple, and something he despised. He blamed it on old habits - very old habits - but he couldn’t really stomach food if it had been alive at one point.

After collecting a basket full of fruits, vegetables, and grains, he made his way to the front to pay for them. Someone collided with him before he got there, and apples went rolling across the floor. 

He knelt down and started gathering them. Then: “I’m sorry, I should have--”

The vaguely familiar voice cut off, and he looked up. The expressive eyes, the hint of a smile tucked away at the corner of her lips, the careful but purposeful way she held herself - Colette again. 

“Are you following me?” Cain asked, fumbling with a handful of celery and putting it back in the basket.

She held up a basket as well. “No, I’m shopping because I eat food, same as you.” Her faint little smile grew a bit brighter, and her expression was a slightly mischievous one.

Cain didn’t allow himself a smile, but he did feel a little more at ease. “I should have guessed,” he responded calmly. He completed his journey to the front counter, aware that she was following him. 

“Where are you staying?” 

He glanced over his shoulder. “At the inn. Why does it matter?”

“I was just curious.” She tilted her head nonchalantly and rummaged in her basket, counting the potatoes in the bottom.

Cain turned away and gave the man at the counter his groceries, counting some money out of the wallet in his pocket. Suddenly: “You have my tomato.”

He blinked, then turned around again. “What?”

She gave him another smile, but this one was shy and a bit uncertain. “When we ran into each other, I must have dropped one of my tomatoes.” She gestured to the red object on the counter.

Cain blinked, looking at it, then back at her before picking it up and handing it to her. “Sorry.” 

“It’s quite alright,” Colette replied.

Then Cain, having paid for his food, left and returned to his room. He spent hours lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.

~*~

Weeks passed, and he still remained in this little town without quite knowing why. He had no reason to stay, and normally would have moved on by now. He planned to, just… not yet.

A knock on his door woke him from a mid-day catnap one day and when he opened the door, he wondered if he really did know why he continued to stick around. 

Outside, there was a wicker basket and nothing else. He picked it up and took it inside, warily lifting the cloth away. Inside, he saw a loaf of bread peeking out from the separate cloth it was wrapped in, and a slip of paper resting atop it. He took it into his hand and read it.

_I hope this note finds you well. I heard from the grocer that you seem to be sticking around, so I thought I would send you a proper welcome gift. It isn’t much, but pumpkin bread is a favourite of mine and I thought perhaps you might like it. And with this I formally want to say - welcome to our little town. I do hope you like it here._

_Colette_

Cain blinked, looking back down at the basket. It was a kind gesture to be sure, even if he didn’t understand why it was being made.

After briefly contemplating leaving the bread untouched - what if it was a trick, and it was poisoned? - he decided to take the risk anyway. She didn’t seem the type to poison someone. Not that you could usually tell that just by looking at someone, but she reminded him of… he couldn’t quite place it. Something safe. Like a small corner of the world free from shadows.

So he cut a few slices of the bread and sat at the window to eat, letting the warm sunlight wash over his forearms while he watched the street below.

~*~

Another few weeks later, he decided to leave his room and roam outside. He had done this a few times since moving into the inn - though mostly he napped during the day and wandered town at night - but today he braved the daytime.

He had his reasons for avoiding people during the day. Some of them would cast sideways glances at him, almost as though they knew who he was. Once or twice, someone had waved at him and asked how he was.

It bothered him that people seemed to recognise him but he didn’t recognise them. 

But hiding bothered him just as much. So he hit the streets and ambled along without paying any attention to the other townsfolk. Until he caught sight of a figure who did look familiar to him. Colette, again. 

He knew he should thank her for the bread - which he had finished off in less than a day - but couldn’t bring himself to approach her. Was that… _shyness_ he felt? 

_Don’t be absurd._ Wariness around a stranger was not equal to shyness around a beautiful lady--

Had he just admitted to himself he thought she was beautiful? Cain scowled, mainly at himself, and then glanced up again. Colette was entering the library. He watched the doors for a moment, debating with himself, and then crossed the street to enter the building as well.

He pinpointed her location - near the counter, appearing to be returning a book - and carefully made his way to the opposite side of the library where he stood slightly behind a shelf. 

Picking a book from the shelf - some classic novel - and pretending to stare at the pages while he watched Colette, Cain had to admit to himself he was acting more than a little shifty. But he had to thank her - he just needed to get up the courage to do so. Or, rather, he had to wait until she had a moment of free time. He had plenty of courage.

She headed toward the shelf he was behind, and he quickly moved around the other side of it. Through a few cracks in the shelves, he could see her trailing her hand across the spines of the books on the opposite side.

A loud sound from up front caused Cain to turn sharply, ready to fight until he realised it was the librarian dropping a heavy stack of books down on the desk.

When he turned around again, Cain found himself only a few feet away from Colette. His reflexes kept him from defending himself at the last second, but that meant that instead of using the book he held as a weapon he dropped it. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly crouched down and picked it up. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Colette said. 

“You didn’t.” Cain straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “It was an accident.” 

She smiled at him like she knew he wasn’t being entirely honest. But she couldn’t know that; no one was close enough to him to know when he was lying. 

He tucked the book under his arm, against his ribcage. “I wanted to thank you, by the way. For the… the welcome gift. It was kind of you; I liked it very much.”

Her smile grew brighter. “I’m glad.” 

They were quiet for a moment, until Cain spoke again, almost before he even had time to think. “I noticed a teahouse, just down the street. If you’d like to, perhaps I could take you there for some… well, tea.”

Her smile remained where it was, but her eyes grew even brighter. “I would like that, yes.” 

“I don’t have anything to do for at least a week, so whatever time works for you…” Cain couldn’t quite believe his audacity. This wasn’t what he did - he didn’t ask people out on what were generally called ‘dates’ now. He was a loner, and this was highly out of character. 

Yet he found his heart lifted a little at the fact she said yes.

“Tomorrow at noon?” she suggested. “I’m free at that time.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ll, uh, meet you at the teahouse then?” 

“Absolutely.” She shifted the three books in her arm. “I hate to run off so soon, but I need to be on my way home now.”

She looked at him and for a moment, Cain was silent. Until he realised he was staring and cleared his throat. “Yes. I mean, I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

They parted ways, and Cain told himself that tomorrow was the last time he would see Colette.

~*~

The next day, he hardly spoke while at the teahouse with Colette. But he didn’t need to; he was perfectly content to listen to her talk. Occasionally he would interject with a comment or a question, and he always answered her when she addressed him directly. Yet he was quiet for the most part.

She told him about the bees in her yard, and how they were doing quite well; she would be able to glean a jar of honey from the hive fairly soon now. She talked about the birds, naming each species rather than generalising them with the term ‘birds’. She spent perhaps the longest amount of time speaking of the poetry she had recently read, and expressing her thoughts on them. 

Somewhere along the line, Cain ended up holding his teacup in one hand and resting his chin on the other, his attention fully captured by Colette’s quiet voice that somehow held so much excitement and energy while still being soft like a summer breeze. 

She recited something - a poem by William Butler Yeats - at one point during the time they spent together, saying it was one of her favourite poems. Cain listened closely, hanging on every single word. They transported him somewhere else that he couldn’t quite remember; it was like stepping into a place you were sure you had seen before, but having nothing to go on besides a feeling.

“ _Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,_  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half-light,  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

Cain didn’t realise he had drifted off into his thoughts, wrapped in the words of the poetry, until someone else in the teahouse laughed loudly. Then he snapped out of his daze, face warming slightly when he realised he had been staring intently at Colette while he thought. “I’m sorry. The poem… I don’t know. It reminded me of something. I’m just not certain what.”

There was that flicker of a tiny knowing smile in the corner of her lips. “It’s alright. I hold the poem dear for similar reasons.”

A few moments later, they went their separate ways again. 

~*~

Cain had lied when he told himself he wouldn’t see Colette again after that one day. They continued meeting at least once a week, usually at the teahouse; after a few months, they started going on walks outside of town, surrounded by trees and wildflowers. She knew the names of all of them.

He cared deeply for her, and he hated admitting it to himself. But he hated being apart from her even more. She kept him grounded; when the parts of his past he did remember came back to haunt him, she could keep him from being overcome by the guilt. She reminded him of all that was good and pure. And strangest of all, she seemed to love him back. Neither of them ever spoke out loud, but innocent actions spoke for them.

And he realised he needed to tell her. He needed to tell her everything. He didn’t know why, but it was important that he did.

So the next time he saw her - they were sitting beneath a tree in the late days of summer, with the lunch she had made - he tried to figure out how to word what he wanted to say.

“What is it that bothers you so?” 

Cain glanced up from the grass, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Something’s bothering you,” Colette said simply. “What is it?”

He started to protest and say that nothing was wrong, but realised he couldn’t bring himself to. With a quiet sigh, he said, “Colette, I love you. And I don’t… I don’t love people. I never have. At least not for a very long time. But with you, I feel lighter. I feel like my past no longer defines who I am. I don’t understand why I only met you a few months ago, but I still feel like--” He cut himself off, struggling to figure out how to word it.

“You don’t understand why you feel like you’ve known me for much longer?” she offered gently.

“Yes.” Cain kept speaking. “When I’m with you, it’s this sense of familiarity. Like I should know you, and remember you from years ago, but I don’t. I recognise you and this town, but without actual memories. It’s just a sense, a feeling.”

Colette was quiet for a moment, before adding, “Like the poem? The one I recited to you at the teahouse that first day?”

“Yes,” Cain repeated. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. There was something else he wanted to say, but it was all muddled. Then Colette spoke again, and he went still.

“We were to be married.” She watched him quietly for his reaction, which was nothing more than an expression of stunned confusion. Then she continued. “We knew each other for nearly four years before you asked me, and I was overjoyed. But shortly before the wedding, you went missing, and were found in the middle of nowhere, bleeding from the head. Whether it was an attack or an accident, we didn’t know. You were in a coma; the doctor visited you every day - to make sure you were doing well - in the house you woke up in. It was the house you bought for us, for when we were married. You don’t remember that. I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up, but you did.”

“And I don’t remember any of what you just told me about,” Cain said, more as a way of finishing her explanation than anything.

“No, you don’t. But it was true,” she replied. “I have the letters we wrote back and forth to one another. The poem by Yeats - it was your favourite. We would recite it to each other often.”

Silence fell for a very long time - nearly an hour. Dragonflies darted back and forth in the air, and the faint humming of bumblebees could be heard not too far away. 

Finally, Cain said, “I believe you.” And he did. It made sense, at least regarding the odd dreamlike feeling he had sometimes, like the town was a childhood haunt he had all but forgotten and had returned to.

She said nothing, and he glanced over. She was smiling, and a stray tear shone on her cheek before it fell and disappeared in the grass. 

“I’m sorry,” Cain told her quickly, hating the idea he had made her cry. “I’m sorry I can’t remember, and I’m sorry that you’ve had to struggle with that fact ever since I woke up. I’m sorry the wedding never happened, and I’m sorry you all but lost the man you loved.” He meant every word, even if the last sentence - she had loved him, and she did love him, but why would anyone feel that way for him, and how could they? - felt strange to speak aloud.

She took his hand in hers, and he fell quiet, staring down at their hands - how his fingers interlocked so naturally with hers, how both of them had hands that showed signs of hard work…

“I never lost the man I loved. He’s right here,” Colette replied softly. “You may have lost some of your memories, but you’re still the same man I met before, and you’re still the man I love.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. 

Time continued to pass until the golden rays of the sun became tinged with rose, and shadows began to stretch further across the ground. He never let go of her hand, and she didn’t try to pull it back. 

Just as the sun began to vanish over the horizon, Cain finally looked up at her. “I was going to say, earlier, that I needed to leave town. But if it’s okay, I’d like to stay.”

She laughed a little, then took a flower she had picked from the earth with her free hand and tucked it into his hair. “I’d like it if you would. Forever, perhaps.”

“Then I will. _But I, being poor, have only my dreams_ …” 

“And that’s all I ask, because I do dearly love you.”

“Forever it is, then.”


End file.
